


Come Back To Me

by endlessnepenthe



Series: "Why, Where Are We Going?" "The Future." [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Snow, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Worried Steve Rogers, very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: He’s deathly afraid that Bucky wouldn’t come back.That Bucky wouldn’t want to come back.That it’ll be only the Winter Soldier left.





	Come Back To Me

Bucky’s doing it again.

He’s perched on the plush armchair near the window, staring out at the blindingly bright clumps of snow falling thickly from above. His eyes — like the sky, a dull blue so faded they’re practically grey — are blank and vacant. There’s nothing behind them; they’re open and looking but not actually seeing. Occasionally he blinks, the movement slow and absent, mechanically seen through as a result of only sheer ingrained necessity.

Steve hates each and every single time it happens.

_“Bucky?”_

_“Who the hell is Bucky?” He — the Winter Soldier — turns, agonizingly slow, glaring across the distance with a flat gunmetal gaze that was devoid of emotion. Even his voice is level, toneless. _

Steve’s Bucky is — is supposed to be — full of life, different expressions lighting up his face in their own miniscule ways, brightening the pale blue of his eyes so they’re the colour of the ocean before a storm instead of during one. When Steve sees Bucky retreat deep inside himself, compelling microexpressions and more hesitant blatant expressions replaced by the signature emptiness of the Winter Soldier, he’s deathly afraid that Bucky wouldn’t come back.

That Bucky wouldn’t _want_ to come back.

That it’ll be only the Winter Soldier left.

It’s irrational and largely pointless, but Steve can’t help himself; he wants —  _needs_ — to keep an eye on Bucky, petrified by the idea that Bucky might disappear when Steve isn’t looking. But Steve can’t continue outright staring, because even after the Winter Soldier programming, Bucky is still as astoundingly perceptive of Steve’s emotions as he was back when Steve had so many medical complications that they had to be listed by the ones he _didn’t_ have.

So Steve takes out his small sketchbook and pen that he carried with him all the time, glances out the window behind Bucky, and attempts to draw what he sees. He aims to sketch the large old tree that stretches its thick branches towards the house, empty boughs laden with fluffy snow. It’s the perfect subject. Simple enough to not be too time consuming, and complex enough to be an interesting study.

Yet, when the tip of the pen finally meets the paper, Steve ends up with something that is not even close to the shape of any tree. _Draw the tree, Steve. The tree!_ His hand seems to have a mind of its own despite his mental protests, and soon the page fills with familiar features he doesn’t need to see to trace onto the paper: the delicate fan of thick eyelashes, firm slope of a proud nose, sharp edge of a strong jaw, gentle wave of shoulder length hair, soft swell of plump lips.

Abandoning all attempts at resistance, Steve drags the pen down the page in long gentle strokes, outlining the column of Bucky’s neck. He sketches the curve of Bucky’s Adam’s apple with passionate focus, the thought of keeping an eye on Bucky escaping his mind in favour of etching Bucky’s likeliness onto the paper of Steve’s notebook. As Steve is about to add Bucky’s graceful collarbones to the drawing, he peeks up; for both a quick reference and to make sure that Bucky was still there. To his surprise, Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, now alive with recognition and something endlessly tender.

Placing the notebook aside, Steve stands and wanders to the window, drowning in the fragility swimming in Bucky’s stormy ocean eyes. Leaning over, he rests a hand on the raised back of the armchair, shifts his weight, and presses his lips to Bucky’s.

With a light gasp, Bucky yields easily, soft lips parting as he tilts his head just enough to seal them perfectly against Steve’s. Steve lifts his free hand to press his palm against Bucky’s cheek, long slender fingers of an artist sliding into silky brown hair. He keeps the kiss chaste and warm despite Bucky’s unmistakable open-mouthed invitation, lips moving gently against Bucky’s.

Both Steve and Bucky pull back at the same time, like they had exchanged an unspoken agreement to do so, although they shared no such thing. Neither of them open their eyes, resting with their foreheads and noses pressed together. Steve and Bucky silently breathe the same air, exhales warming the little space between their lips.

“I’m not complainin’,” Bucky murmurs, voice hoarse and rough, “but what’d you do that for?”

“Just wanted to kiss you,” Steve whispers back.

“Sap.”

Steve never mentions how terrified he is.

(And Bucky never mentions how he sees the anxiety and relief — clear as day — in Steve’s wide eyes, how he knows he’d slipped again with a single glance at Steve.)

“Buck?”

“Hm?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

He patiently waits for Bucky’s response; knowing Bucky, it’s near certain that he’d say something cheeky or teasing. But each time Steve thinks he knows Bucky Barnes, he’s blindsided by how unpredictable the man is. It’s both frustrating and endearing, all at once.

“Yes,” Bucky breathes, stormy gunmetal ocean meeting clear blue sky.  
  
  


 

 

 

Somehow, they end up with Steve sitting in the armchair and Bucky wedged in next to him, seated half on Steve’s lap. Bucky sits still and silent with his back to Steve, watching with vague fascination as the thick snow drifts down outside the window. Steve is hesitantly sliding his fingers through Bucky’s hair, gaining courage when Bucky hums and tips his head back.

He isn’t sure what he’s doing; Steve idly twirls a few of the chestnut strands around his fingers. Bucky offers him a black hair tie. With an airy laugh, Steve takes it, dutifully collecting Bucky’s hair at one side of his neck. Exhaling a fond sound, Bucky nudges a clump of hair that Steve had missed over into Steve’s gentle wandering hands.

Steve loops the fabric coated elastic loosely around Bucky’s hair, far too anxious about accidentally yanking at the strands and causing Bucky pain. His task complete, he winds his arms around Bucky’s waist from behind, rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, and smiles when he feels Bucky place his flesh hand on top of Steve’s. It’s peaceful, their broad bodies squashed together on the small armchair, sharing their warmth as they watch the snow fall.

And Steve can’t help it; he turns his head to close his teeth around Bucky’s exposed neck, pressing hard enough to feel the strong cord of muscle between his teeth. Bucky yelps but immediately submits and goes limp — it’s not a surprise, for Steve still has his teeth in Bucky’s neck.

“What are you doing,” Bucky growls, but it’s breathy, low and shaky.

Humming noncommittally, Steve releases Bucky’s neck to press an apologetic kiss to the area that he’d bit. Bucky twists his upper torso around — Steve is still astounded by his flexibility — and places a hand behind Steve’s head, pulling him forward.

Bucky kisses Steve with an edge of hot aggression, his subconscious animal instinct likely responding to Steve’s earlier challenge at his throat. He licks at Steve’s bottom lip, wet and sloppy, before sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh. Steve laughs into Bucky’s mouth, light and happy, leaving Bucky to nibble at every inch of Steve’s bottom lip with the insistence and determination of a man with a mission.

When Bucky is finally satisfied and pulls back, both of their lips are slick and red, bruised by Bucky’s force and enthusiasm. Spinning around in the tiny space with lethal elegance, Bucky straddles Steve’s thighs.

“Steve.”

“Mm,” Steve replies, distracted. His wide eyes drop down, hypnotized by the red tongue darting out to swipe boldly against Bucky’s lips.

“Think I could kiss you again,” Bucky purrs, forcing Steve’s startled gaze even lower when he spreads his thick thighs wider in a seductive invitation.

Steve doesn’t even twitch at the obviously teasing recall of his previous line. “Please,” he whispers.

Bucky’s grinning like a cat that got the cream when he leans in.


End file.
